


Salvage

by AVAAntares



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Study, Family, Gen, Pre-Series, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 13:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10641195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVAAntares/pseuds/AVAAntares
Summary: For a young Ianto Jones, London holds the promise of a better life, and freedom from a past he'd rather escape. For Rhiannon Davies, her brother's flight feels like abandonment, just when they need him most.The battered old suitcase is not the only thing in this house that needs mending.





	

The door of the garden shed clipped hard against the jamb as it closed, releasing a blizzard of ragged paint flakes into the air. Ianto cursed under his breath as he brushed the dry paint chips from his head and arms. The shed was gradually collapsing, windows cracking, paint peeling, the weatherbeaten wood canting a few degrees farther from square each year until the door no longer fit the frame. Dad always said he would get around to repairing it someday.

But then, Dad had promised to fix a lot of things. It was no surprise that most had been left unfinished.

Safely outside the unsteady structure, Ianto examined the battered suitcase he’d unearthed from one of the lower strata of family detritus in the shed. It was easily twice his age, the leather scuffed and peeling and spotted with mildew from the perpetual damp. How long had it been stored out there, anyway? He couldn’t recall the last time anyone in his family had actually _traveled_ anywhere, apart from the odd overnight on a weekend. Perhaps his parents had used it on their honeymoon.

He rubbed at a dark stain and tried not to think of it as a metaphor.

Ianto made a cursory inspection of the case’s interior. The hinges and latch were rusty, but still solid. The elastic in the lid pocket had been lost to dry rot, but that was manageable. A damp cloth could do for most of the dirt and cobwebs, he decided, and a day out in the sun should take care of the worst of the mildew… He glanced up at the heavy gray Welsh sky, bulging with the promise of rain, and sighed. Or there was always spray disinfectant and baking soda. He headed for the house.

Rhiannon was waddling about the kitchen, aimlessly cleaning things and reorganizing the drawers, as she had done most afternoons since their father’s funeral. Ianto didn’t know why she bothered coming over every day; their mother didn’t really need the help around the house, and Rhi was so far pregnant she could barely squeeze behind the wheel of her secondhand Fiesta. Yet she clung to the routine, citing their need to be together now—as a family, she said. She should be home making plans for her _own_ family, Ianto thought bitterly. Little David-or-Megan would be here in a few weeks, and he knew for a fact Johnny hadn’t even started painting the nursery.

His sister glanced up and raised her eyebrows as he maneuvered the bulky suitcase in through the back door. “Oi! Where are you going with that filthy thing?” she asked lightly, then frowned when he hefted it onto the table. “Ianto, what are you doing?”

Ianto found an old rag in a cabinet beneath the sink and began scrubbing the exterior of the case. “What does it look like?”

Rhiannon coughed and opened the small window above the sink. “You aren’t really planning to _use_ that thing, are you? It smells.”

Ianto gritted his teeth as he worked at a stubborn mildew stain. “It’s not as though I can afford a new one.”

“Well, what do you need it for? You’ve got that nice gym bag Johnny gave you for Christmas.”

He rolled his eyes. “If I want to pack more than a pair of track suit bottoms, I’ll need more than one bag. I don’t fancy carrying all my clothes about in plastic bin liners.”

Rhiannon watched his efforts in silence for a moment, then levered herself into a chair. “So you’re serious about leaving, then?”

“Already bought my ticket. I’ll be in London by Saturday night.”

Rhiannon’s eyes widened. “Saturday? Ianto, you can’t just leave like that! What about Mum?”

“She’s got you, hasn’t she?” Ianto flipped open the suitcase lid, releasing a cloud of decades-old dust, and fought back a sneeze.

“But I don’t live here. And I’m pregnant; I can’t look after her once the baby comes. She’ll be on her own!”

“She’ll be fine. Better, once she’s got a new grandchild to keep her occupied.” He shot her a glance. “And being pregnant hasn’t stopped you from hanging around here every day, so don’t pretend you’re going to stop.”

Rhiannon looked down and rubbed at her dishwater-chapped hands, and Ianto felt a surge of irritation. There were new rubber gloves in the drawer by the sink; why did she never use them? “Ianto, if that’s why you’re leaving…”

“It’s not.” At least, not entirely. It was true that things had been tense between the siblings ever since Rhiannon’s wedding, an inelegant, rushed affair bookended by the discovery of Rhi’s unplanned pregnancy and their father’s sudden hospitalization. Ianto hadn’t been happy with any of it—least of all the groom—but the bad feeling between himself and Johnny Davies was a mere drop in the ocean of reasons he wanted to shake the dust of Cardiff off his feet. “I want to get settled before the academic year starts.”

“So you’re going to uni, then?” Rhiannon glanced up at him, a shade of reproach beneath her lashes. “You didn't tell me you’d been accepted. Where are you studying?”

Ianto half-shrugged. “I’ve got a couple schools in mind. Going to check them out when I get there.” He would find something. A university, a trade school, an apprenticeship, _anything_ so long as it would keep him away from this place. “I’ll tell you as soon as I have my enrollment finalized.”

Rhiannon sighed, and he knew she knew he was lying. “But you will keep in touch, won’t you? You won’t just leave us high and dry?”

He snorted and nodded toward the window, where rain was finally beginning to patter against the glass. “In Wales? That would take a miracle.”

She smiled feebly at that. “Have you got a place to live?”

“I’ve talked with a couple blokes who are renting a house in Bromley Gardens. They’ll let me sublet the attic for a few months, until I find something on my own.”

“Are they nice, these blokes?”

He shrugged. “Never met them.”

Her brow creased. “How did you find them, then?”

“Internet. University of London message board.”

“Ianto!” She gasped, but before she could start a lecture on internet safety and common sense, Ianto cut her off.

“They’re not rapists or murderers or organ harvesters, Rhi,” he snapped. “Their names are Gavin and Nathan, and I’ve been talking to them for weeks. I’m not a complete idiot, so please don’t treat me like one.” He yanked at one of the snaps in the lining and swore softly when the brittle fabric tore around the metal stud.

Rhiannon reeled in her concern with an effort. “You’ll give us the address, though? And phone? Mum will want to check that you’re all right.”

Ianto rolled his eyes, imagining Gavin taking down one of his mother’s interminable phone messages. “It’s only London. I’ll be two hours away. It’s not like I’m moving to Australia or something.”

She sighed. “I know. It’s just…” She blinked rapidly and turned to gaze out the window. “Everything’s different now. With Dad gone, and you leaving…”

“Life moves on.”

"And you move right along with it." She didn't bother to disguise the bitterness in her voice. "There was never a rush before, but now you can't be gone soon enough."

"I have to go, Rhi."

"Why?" She turned hard eyes on him. "Why, Ianto? What's so important about London? What's there that you can't get at home, in Cardiff, with your family?"

"I don't know!" he snapped. "But I need something else. Something more than what's here." Emotion burned his throat, and he swallowed thickly. “I don’t want to stay here and just rot like…” He shoved the at mildewed suitcase, which rotated lazily on the table. “Like _this_. I’m sick of this dirty old estate, broken fences, trash in the street… I’m tired of secondhand shops, and part-time jobs that don’t even pay me enough to buy a decent suitcase. I want something _new_ , for once. I want to _do_ something with my life.”

She swiped at her eyes. “This won’t ever be good enough for you, will it? _We_ won’t ever be good enough.”

His hands fell still at his sides. “That’s not what I meant, Rhi. You know that’s not what I…”

“No, it’s fine. I understand.” She shook her head. “You’re smart, Ianto. Smarter than the rest of us. You could really make something of yourself.” She sighed. “You can do better than this.”

He hesitated. “It’s not because I’m… ashamed, or anything…”

Rhiannon made an effort at smiling. “Of course not. You’ll do us all proud. You’ll get a good job, make a load of money, and come back to visit driving some posh car and wearing one of those thousand-pound suits, like Dad always used to point out in town.”

The tightness returned to his throat as he remembered one of the rare good evenings, his father waxing poetic about the finer points of haberdashery and the tailor’s shop he dreamed of owning if he could ever make some money and get away from Debenhams. “I can’t really picture myself in a suit, but I wouldn’t mind the car. An Aston Martin, I think.”

“Or one of those James Bond cars you’re always drooling over,” Rhiannon laughed, and for once Ianto didn’t bother to point out her error. After a moment her smile dimmed a shade. “Ianto… you won’t just leave us behind, will you? I know we’re not much to be proud of, but…”

“But we’re family,” he finished. “No, Rhi, I would never forget about you. Don’t worry.” He nodded toward her protruding belly. “Anyway, I’ll be back to meet my niece or nephew soon enough.”

Rhiannon groaned. “ _Never_ soon enough,” she muttered, patting her stomach, and they laughed.

Ianto returned his attention to the suitcase, fingering the torn lining fabric. “Do you think this can be fixed? The material is so worn, I don’t know if it’ll hold a stitch or just tear out again.” He sighed and ran his hand around the battered rim of the case. “Then again, this whole thing may be a waste of effort.”

Rhiannon leaned forward to peer over his arm. “If there’s one thing I learned from Dad, it’s that _anything_ can be patched up.” She pushed unsteadily to her feet and smiled as she picked a stray flake of paint out of his hair. “I’ll get the mending kit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rather than a conversation that actually happened, I think this is more a conversation that _should_ have happened between young(er) Ianto and Rhiannon. From their interaction in _Children of Earth,_ it seems like Ianto just packed up and left after his father's death without much explanation at all -- which is a shame, as Ianto clearly needed someone to talk to, and Rhiannon ended up blaming herself (at least in part) for his leaving.
> 
> To keep things simple, I left Rhi married to Johnny Davies, even though her surname was given as Evans at one point (per _The Torchwood Archive_ ), which suggests that she might have been married to someone else previously. However, that's such an obscure (and largely irrelevant) piece of trivia that I thought it might just confuse readers. Other trivia: Ianto's (non-Torchwood) London friends Gavin and Nathan are from the novel _Trace Memory_ , and Ianto's mother leaves him a rambling six-minute-long voicemail in the Big Finish audio drama _Broken_. I am a nerd and love incorporating random EU references in my stories. :)


End file.
